


Killing Me Softly (With His Song)

by itsallAvengers



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: ??? I don't know how to tag im sorry, Alternate Universe, Angst, Cancer, Grief, Growing Up Together, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Teenagers, Terminal Illnesses, Tony Stark-centric, this is very sad and i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 13:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12059928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsallAvengers/pseuds/itsallAvengers
Summary: Steve is Tony's whole world. Tony couldn't imagine life without him. They've grown up together, after all.Steve gets cancer.





	Killing Me Softly (With His Song)

**Author's Note:**

> Elena this is all your fault

Tony met Steve when he was 6 years old.

  


Blonde hair, blue eyes that shone right through him. A smile that made Tony feel all floaty and warm. A laugh that sounded like angels.

  


He was in Steve’s class. Sat behind him, and he’d always position himself just so, in order to be able to have Steve’s blonde head right in front of his line of sight. He had the loveliest hair. Tony wanted to hold his hand more than he’d ever wanted to hold _anyone’s_ hand.

 

He was small and thin and people laughed at him, sometimes, but Tony thought he was perfect. In fact, he didn’t bother thinking, he knew. He knew Steve was more perfect than any equation or engine or robot. He was Steve, and that was just… better.

  
  


Someone stole Steve’s pencil case a few weeks later, and Tony pretty much burst out of his chair in order to let Steve take whichever pencil he fancied from his own bag. When Steve looked down at them, he smiled, and Tony wanted to jump around the room.

 

Steve had smiled at him. At _him_.

 

“Let’s be friends,” Steve declared, as he delicately plucked the smallest pencil from Tony’s case with thin, bony little fingers.

  


Tony nodded, and when he went home, his heart was bursting.

  
  


-

  
  


Tony became best friends with Steve when he was seven years old.

  


They sat under the sheets that Steve had rigged up into a den, heads so close they were almost knocking as Steve held out the pencil that Tony had given to him 5 months, three days and seventeen hours ago. Tony stared at it, head cocking in confusion, and Steve grinned, white teeth flashing happily as he shuffled around on his pillow.

 

“This pencil is important,” he said seriously, “this pencil made us friends.”

 

Slowly, Steve grabbed Tony’s wrist, pulling it up to slot the yellow stick of wood into his fingers, and then closing the fist around it. “You keep it. And on this day, in exactly one year, you can give it back, alright?”

 

“What? Why- why today? Why not when we first met? I can give you the date, I know it,” Tony whispered, and then blushed a little, because it was probably stupid to remember a date that really wasn’t important to anyone but him-

 

“Because tonight, I’m officially declaring us the bestest of friends,” Steve said grandly, chin up and sealing the deal with a firm nod of his head, “so this is just as important as the day we met.”

 

Tony stopped, mouth opening wide. He’d never… he’d never had a best friend before. He’d never really had _friends,_ before Steve. This was all very new.

 

Tony thought he might jump for joy. Because it was Steve. And Steve was the closest thing Tony could think of to a literal angel, and if he wanted to be bestest friends…

Tony felt like he was the luckiest boy in the entire world.

 

“Okay,” he agreed, because he realised he hadn’t before then, and he didn’t want Steve to think he was doubting the decision. He wasn’t. Wouldn’t ever.

 

Steve smiled again. “You better not lose the pencil,” he warned, but it was fond, and his shoulder bumped with Tony’s.

 

Tony shook his head vigorously. “Never ever. I’ll keep it around my neck if I have to. I’ll keep it in a _safe_ if I have to. I’ll _make_ a safe if I h-”

 

“Okay, okay, I believe you,” Steve said softly, before leaning forward and grabbing a bag of chips from the food stores they’d set up for their sleepover, “now, shall we celebrate with some food?”

 

“It wouldn’t be a party without it,” Tony replied, grinning just as broadly.

  
  


-

  
  


Steve read his comic-book, talking about how was going to be a famous artist one day, and his skinny frame was backed up against Tony’s own whilst he invested himself in a paper on thermonuclear physics, and Tony realised that having a best friend was one of the greatest things in the whole wide world.

  
  


-

  
  


Steve banged angrily against the keys of the piano, pouting. “Music sucks. Why are we doing this at school, anyway? Why will they let us mess around with a stupid piano but they refuse to let us have one stupid art lesson?”

 

Tony shrugged indifferently, taking Steve’s place on the stool as the other boy stormed off angrily. He hadn’t played in awhile- the last time his mother had been up for giving him a lesson was… a long while back. But he was pretty sure he still had the knack-

  


As soon as his fingers pressed into the keys, it all came flooding back. He smiled happily, feeling the notes flow over his head, humming along absently as his fingers danced over the piano, playing a simple Italian lullaby his mother had taught him when he’d been around five. It was soft and lilting, and Tony found himself singing the lyrics to himself without even realising.

 

It was only when Steve breathed out a quiet ‘wow’ that Tony came back to himself with a little jerk, blushing profusely as he spotted Steve staring across the room at him. He was sat on a chair, leaning forward, mouth open in surprise. “You can… wow, Tony. That’s pretty neat.”

 

Tony grinned self-consciously, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “Thanks. My mom taught me. She’s… yeah. I like music,” he stammered.

 

Steve cocked his head. “What language was that?”

 

“Italian.”

 

“Is that where you’re from?”

 

“My mom is, yeah,” Tony nodded, “she teaches me Italian when she’s in a good mood. It’s nice.”

 

Steve paused, before scooting a little close on his chair. “Can you play some more?” He asked tentatively, “for me? We still have ten minutes before we have to leave the music room.”

 

Tony opened his mouth to say no, but he caught himself. Why shouldn’t he? Steve showed him his drawings. Tony should be able to show him his music. Steve wouldn’t laugh. Steve _liked_ it.

  


So Tony let his fingers start running, and somewhere along the way, he lost himself to it.

  


They showed up fifteen minutes late for class, but neither of them cared.

  
  


-

  
  


Tony fell in love with Steve when he was 9 and a half years old.

  


Okay, well, that was sort of a lie. He’d been in love with Steve since the moment he’d laid eyes on the skinny boy, but it had been more… innocent, then. He hadn’t thought of it romantically- hadn’t thought about kissing him or being his boyfriend. He’d just- well, he’d just thought Steve was something of an angel. Something to be treasured.

 

So no. He didn’t ‘fall in love’ when he was nine. He’d just sort of… understood it. Become aware.

  


Steve hadn’t been doing anything in particular. Just biting his lip. He’d been a little stressed- his weak immune system meant he caught colds and other illness very easily, which was expensive for his mom, and he’d accidentally left the house without a coat. So he’d been worrying at his lip.

 

And Tony had suddenly wanted to kiss him.

 

Just like that. The first thought he’d ever had about it, but it felt so _right._ Maybe not like they did in the weird movies- maybe just a peck. On the cheek or something. But Tony wanted to.

 

“Do you want my jacket?” Tony asked, mainly on autopilot, because most of him was still shocked with the revelation.

 

Steve stopped walking, turning to him and opening his mouth before catching himself and shaking his head. “No, no, I’m fine, you’ll be cold-”

 

“Steve,” Tony rolled his eyes, shucking off his jacket and directing it toward Steve, who dodged it like it was infected, “just take the stupid coat!”

 

“No!” Steve yelped, giggling a little as Tony tried to catch him, but Steve was used to dodging things and he slipped away easily.

 

Tony groaned and tried to hide his smile as he launched forward, giving chase. Steve yelled with laughter, hopping on to walls and ducking into corridors as Tony pursued him.

 

Eventually, they had to stop, because Steve had an asthma attack, but it was fun while it lasted. And Tony took the opportunity to slide his jacket over Steve’s shoulders while the boy sucked vapour through his inhaler, so at least there was one silver lining.

 

Tony sat next to him, waiting for him to catch his breath. He’d gone a little pale, and his eyes were slightly bloodshot, but he looked just as much of an angel to Tony as he had all those years ago, the first time they’d met.

  


Steve smiled, and Tony melted.

  
  


-

  
  


Tony pulled Steve out of his first fight when he was 10 years, 9 months and 22 days old.

  


“Steve, what were you _thinking?”_ Tony asked, glaring at him angrily as Steve wiped his lip and looked mutinously across the playground, where the headmaster was giving three boys a stern talking to, “you could have been really hurt-”

 

“I’m tough,” Steve said adamantly, raising his chin proudly, “and I wasn’t just gonna let ‘em get away with what they were doin’.”

 

“What did they say that was worth all that?” Tony asked incredulously, taking a tissue from his bag and then handing it to Steve.

 

Steve just looked down at his shoes. “They were sayin’ mean stuff about you,” he muttered.

 

Tony stopped, eyebrows rising in surprise. “You… about me?” He asked.

 

Steve nodded, angry frown-lines and an angrier cut on his lip, “people don’t say mean things about you in front of me unless they wanna get hit,” he said grimly.

 

Steve was tiny- smaller than Tony, and basically just skin and bones. He’d never have won a fight in a million years.

 

Tony loved him so, so dearly.

  


“You’re an idiot,” he said instead, pushing their shoulders together and shaking his head.

 

Steve smiled, and then shuffled in his pocket, before pulling out a faded yellow pencil and handing it over. “But I’m your idiot,” he finished, placing it in Tony’s hand as he stood to follow the headmaster when he called, “happy best-friend anniversary,” he called out after him, before skipping off.

  


Tony looked down at the pencil in between his fingers, which had been returned back and forth for three years in a row now.

He beamed, and his heart felt warmer than he thought it ever had.

  
  


-

  
  


“Honestly, I love your mom,” Tony said through a mouthful of beautiful chocolate chip cookie, whilst Steve sat next to him and nibbled delicately at his own.

 

“She is rather amazin’, ain’t she?” Steve agreed.

 

“How does anyone make cookies this good? What is her secret? I want to know, for science reasons. I tried to make cookies so many times, and they’ve never come out half this good. It’s a crime. A crime, I tell you-”

 

He was talking a little faster, a little more than usual, and both of them knew it. Tony was always like that when he had to come over to Steve’s and seek refuge from his dad. Steve just let him go, happy to listen. Tony appreciated it.

 

“We can try recreating them, if you want? Mom has some ingredients left over,” Steve told him, and Tony looked over to him in glee. “Really?”

 

“Really,” Steve said in amusement, smacking his leg, “come on, let’s go. The raw dough actually tastes nicer than the cookie itself, surprisingly.”

 

“You had me at ‘raw dough’,” Tony said, jumping to his feet and following Steve as they traipsed into the kitchen.

 

Steve’s house was so tiny, compared to Tony. The carpets were worn and the rooms small. A lot of things were second-hand. It was Tony’s favourite place. More of a home to him than anywhere in the mansion.

 

And it had the added bonus of being home to one of the best pair of people Tony had had the luck of meeting, which was always a bonus.

 

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Steve asked, clicking his fingers in front of Tony’s face as he leaned up to grab the flour.

 

Tony watched him, his golden hair falling messily into his eyes before being swept back by Steve’s fingers.

 

“Nothing,” he said with a shake of his head, “now, 10 dollars says we finish the dough before we even get to put it in the oven.”

  
  


-

  
  


Tony was kissed by Steve when he was 12 years, 5 months and thirteen days old.

  


He really hadn’t been expecting it. Steve had been ill again, and his head was resting on Tony’s shoulder as they had watched a film on the TV together. Tony had been trying to ignore the irregular way Steve’s heart was beating in the pulse at his neck, murmuring quietly about his latest attempt at a robot as Steve dozed contentedly underneath him.

 

“Hey, Tony?” he heard a throaty voice whisper, and there was a shifting in weight as Steve lifted his head from Tony’s shoulder in order to look upward.

 

Tony turned, raising his eyebrows. “Yeah?” He asked.

 

Steve looked at him, seemingly conflicted for a moment, before he frowned. “We’d still be friends even if I asked a question you might not like, right?” He asked bluntly, because he was always blunt. Always honest.

 

Tony jerked. “Don’t be stupid, Steve, of course I would. What do you want to ask?”

 

Steve paused, before shifting so that he was sat facing Tony. “Can I kiss you?”

 

Tony’s brain short-circuited.

  


What?

  
  


Was Steve asking….him… he was being asked….by Steve…..

  


“I’m sorry,” Steve said, beginning to blush as he shifted away, “I was just wondering-”

 

“YES,” Tony pretty much yelled, grabbing Steve’s hand and then clearing his throat, “I mean- I’d like that. A lot. Yes please.”

 

Steve stopped, and then his face lit up like a christmas tree. “Really?” He asked excitedly

 

Tony nodded vigorously, and Steve paused, before gulping. “Okay then,” he said, jutting his chin out a little like he always did when he was finding his bravery, “I’m… right. I’m going to kiss you now.”

  


And he did.

  


It lasted about three and a half seconds, and Steve’s lips tasted a little like the medicine he’d just been taking. His mouth was soft. Delicate.

 

It was the best moment in Tony’s whole life.

  


When they broke away, both of them giggled. Steve had the most adorable giggle- it made Tony want to dance just from hearing.

 

“I liked that,” Tony said, which was the biggest understatement in the world.

 

Steve nodded. “Me too,” he admitted, and Tony got the sense he was downplaying it as well.

  


For the rest of the night, they kept their hands held tightly together.

  
  


-

  
  


Tony told Steve he loved him when he was thirteen years and 28 days old.

  


They were on their date, both of them tired from the trek up the big mountain Steve had been insistent on climbing, despite his bad leg. Tony was curled up next to Steve, chewing on a soggy chocolate bar and complaining about everything and anything he could think of as Steve just looked down at him and smiled fondly.

 

“Tony?” He asked, and Tony closed his mouth for a second, looking up expectantly at Steve, “if you don’t stop whining I will throw you off the cliff.”

 

Tony pouted, and Steve just laughed, stroking a hand through his hair. Tony held the offended face for all of two seconds before he broke out into laughter too; grabbing Steve hand and lacing their fingers together.

 

“I love you,” he said quietly, looking upward and smiling when Steve jerked to look down at him.

 

He wasn’t embarrassed. It was just a fact, and he wasn’t going to hide it. Steve deserved his love. He deserved everyone’s love.

 

Steve opened his mouth, but he seemed to change his mind half-way through, instead pulling Tony’s hand and directing him back upward, so he was sat next to Steve. Once upright, Steve kissed him, a lovely kiss which tasted a little bit like the lemon sweets they’d been chewing earlier.

 

“I thought you were never gonna fuckin’ say it,” Steve whispered when they broke away.

 

Tony threw his hands into the air, “hey, I didn’t hear anything from _you,_ Mister-

 

“Yeah,” Steve leaned in for a kiss again, pecking Tony’s cheek, “because _I_ was waiting for _you._ I was the one who said we should be friends, and then I was the one who said we should be bestfriends. _And then_ i was the one who said we should kiss. I think it was your turn to declare something.”

 

Tony made a face. “That’s not very solid reasoning-”

 

“I love you,” Steve said back, shutting him up, “I love you, you big damn idiot. Now shut up and enjoy the sunset.”

 

Tony grumbled inaudibly, but flopped back down on to Steve’s legs as the boy thwacked him gently on the head and then continued to stroke his fingers across his scalp.

  
  


-

  
  


Tony had to take Steve to the hospital when he was 14 years, 3 months and 2 days old.

  


It was his fault.

  


They’d just been playing around. Some stupid childish game of tag in the park, with the sun shining bright up ahead of them. A perfect date. Steve had yelped when Tony caught him and lifted him in the air, but he didn’t complain much after. Too much making out for that. Eventually they had to come up for air, however, and when they did, Steve gave Tony a shove and then sprung back. “You’re it,” he said through a smile.

 

Tony gasped. “You can’t seduce me and and then just tag me. That’s not fair.”

 

“There are no rules here. Only survival.”

 

“Well that’s a little grim,” Tony said, lurching forward and giving chase.

  


It had been fine. It was all good.

  


Until Steve stopped running, and turned to Tony, eyes a little wide. “I...Tony?” He asked quietly, “I don’t actually feel so- so-”

  


And then he’d just...collapsed.

  


Tony hadn’t even been fast enough to catch him before his head had cracked against the ground with a painful thud.

 

He gasped in shock, kneeling next to Steve and putting his head in his lap in order to ease the pressure, and grasped the sides of Steve’s face with his hands. “Steve? Steve, baby, wake up,” he urged, fingers going to Steve’s pulse, checking for something.

 

There was. Thank god. A dull little throb, more uneven than usual, but there.

He pulled out his phone with shaking hands and dialled for an ambulance, spare hand never leaving Steve’s neck.

  
  
  


“He’ll be alright,” Sarah Rogers said gently, and Tony jerked out of his stupor, looking at her tired face and worn hands, “Steve’s a tough nut. Whatever… whatever this is, we’ll get through it.”

 

Tony nodded shakily as she let her hand rest over his shoulder. It had been 9 hours, and Steve still hadn’t woken up. The doctors didn’t know what had triggered it- it wasn’t any of his usual ailments. It was something new. Something unexpected.

  


Tony held his hand and waited.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


Tony found out Steve had cancer when he was 14 years, three months and 4 days old.

  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  


Tony did a U- turn on his career choice when he was 14 years, three months and 6 days old.

  


“Biochem?” Howard spat incredulously, “ _med-school?_ You’re delusional if you think I’m paying for that.”

 

“Don’t care,” Tony said indifferently, and barely even registered the hand that struck his face. He’d been pretty numb for days now, anyway. “I don’t need your money. I got in on a scholarship.”

 

Howard hit him again, and again, and again, and Tony spat the blood back in his face and told him “fuck you.”

  
  


-

  
  


“Tony, what are you doing?” Steve asked softly, bony hand playing absently with the back of Tony’s palm as they lay curled in one another’s embrace on Steve’s bed.

  


Tony stopped, frowning. “Right now? I’m cuddling with you.”

 

“You know what I mean,” and his voice was frailer, less strong, but the tone hadn’t changed, the tone still left no room for argument.

 

Tony stopped, before he kissed the top of Steve’s head. He was going into radiotherapy soon- he was going to lose all that beautiful golden hair. “I’m going to cure you,” he said, and it was true, what they said about picking up habits of the ones close to you, because Tony was jutting his chin out adamantly in the way Steve always did, “I’m going to med-school and I will find a cure for this, Steve, I promise you. I promise.”

 

Steve just sighed, bringing Tony’s hand up and kissing the back of his hand. “That’s not your job, Tony- you _love_ mechanics. It’s your whole life. You can’t just drop that all for m-”

 

“Don’t you dare finish that,” Tony said harshly, his throat sore, tired. He’d been crying a lot, lately. “Don’t you fucking dare. You matter more to me than anything. _Anything,_ Steve. I can do this. We both know I can do this. And so I will.”

 

“You’re throwing everything away. Your career, your life-” Steve started, but Tony stopped him with a kiss. It was gentle- he had to be, now- but it did the trick.

 

“Let me do this for you,” he said against Steve’s mouth, a plead, a beg, “let me try.”

  


Because it was all he could do. He couldn’t control this in any way. He couldn’t throw money at aggressive stage 3 cancer, it didn’t accept any fucking bribes. All Tony had was his brain.

 

So he was going to find a cure.

 

Steve pursed his lips, and his fingers stroked across the still-fading cut across Tony’s cheek from the alumni ring Howard always wore. Leaning up, he kissed it delicately and then sighed.

 

“I love you,” Tony told him, and his voice didn’t waver at all, it didn’t.

 

Steve leaned his head against Tony’s shoulder. “You’re an idiot,” he muttered.

 

Tony smiled a little. “I’m your idiot,” he responded with.

 

He felt the huff of air against his collarbone. “Yeah. Yeah you are.”

  
  


-

  
  


Tony graduated med-school when he was 15 years, 11 months and 13 days old .

  


Steve was there at his ceremony. The light had left him when he’d started the radiotherapy months ago, and replaced him with something more washed out, grey.

 

But he smiled. He smiled for Tony, and clapped louder than anyone else in the auditorium, and when he smiled, they were 8 years old again, and Tony felt like he was looking at an angel.

 

Tony jumped down from the stage and ran toward him. Steve met him in the middle, his fingers clasping Tony’s robes and holding tight. It had been weeks since they’d seen each other last- Tony had been completely swamped with lab work and studying, and Steve had been well enough to manage fine on his own. To Tony, seeing him was like breathing again.

 

“How’s it been, baby?” Tony asked through a smile, curling his fingers around Steve’s jaw and pulling him in for a kiss.

 

Steve nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve been doing better. Eating more. Bucky’s coming round and bugging me, as usual. Mom’s stressed at work, but that’s nothing new,” he shrugged, and then smiled again, poking Tony’s certificate, “but today isn’t about me. You did it! You graduated! I’m so proud of you, Tony, so so proud.”

 

Tony beamed, and Steve hugged him again, pretty much throwing himself into Tony’s arms as they embraced. God, Tony had missed him. His hugs had always been the best things. “Love you,” he mumbled, and Steve smiled against his neck, kissing the part where jaw met neck, “and you know what? I think I have a few ideas for what sort of compounds I can use to start synthesising a viable medication. They’re a little rare, but I have contacts, and hopefully I can get to work s-”

 

“Tony,” Steve said lightly, stroking his fingers through the air that curled over Tony’s ear, “can we just… not do that now? Let’s just find a place to eat and catch up, okay- no shop talk.”

 

Tony bit his lip, but he nodded. He knew Steve didn’t like talking about it. “Sorry. Yeah- food, I like the sound of that. Is your mom here?”

 

Steve nodded. “As if she was going to miss you graduating.”

 

“I couldn’t even imagine,” Tony grinned brightly, and it all just felt so right, so normal, “let’s go fetch her then, and we’ll get some italian. How does that sound? I know a great little place down the road-”

  
  


-

  
  


Tony rubbed the pencil between thumb and finger, before handing it over to Steve. “Happy bestfriend-aversary,” he whispered against Steve’s mouth, and he felt Steve’s smile underneath him as his hands closed over the pencil, and it was stupid and corny now, so very very corny, but who cared? Who gave a single shit?

 

Corny and stupid was Tony’s birthright. And it made Steve laugh. That was worth it.

  
  


-

  
  


“Sarah?” Tony answered immediately, thrusting a hand out to Bruce, his lab partner, and silencing his loud crashing. It was 4 in the morning, and both of them had been on work benders for at least 40 hours by that point- but as soon as he’d heard the ringtone he’d dedicated to Steve’s gentle mother, that had been pushed to the back of his mind.

 

“Tony?” She replied quietly, voice wavering a little, and Tony’s heart suddenly felt like it was being squeezed in a vice grip.

 

He knew what this was. Even before she had to say the words.

 

“Steve’s taken a turn. He’s… he’s back in hospital, honey,” Sarah said softly, and Tony was vaguely aware of his throat making a noise, but he didn’t pay much attention to it.

 

“I’m a few hours out. I- is he- how bad-”

 

“He’s stable,” Sarah whispered, and Tony could hear the tiredness in her voice, the shakes, “but he… they did scans. I don’t- they’re saying it’s… it’s bad, darling. They’re not sure yet, but- but something’s not right with our boy, Tony, something isn’t- I don’t-”

 

Tony gaped, horror-stricken as Sarah began to choke down the phone, her sobs racking through the speakers for a few seconds before she took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. “God, Tony, sorry, sorry- I’m sure Stevie will be fine, it’s just, well, you know how a mother can worry. Don’t panic, darling, just… I’m sure he’d love to see you when he wakes up, if you can possibly-”

 

“I’m coming right now, Sarah,” Tony said, keeping his voice steady, solid. Sarah didn’t need him panicking on top of everything. “I’ll be with you soon.”

 

Sarah sighed, and it sounded like she was running a hand over her face. “Safe journey, honey.”

 

Tony ended the call and stared at the phone. He wasn’t sure how long, but when he came back to Earth, Bruce was looking at him worriedly, offering a jacket. His jacket.

 

“Are you okay?” He asked, and he was a good six years older than Tony, but he was pretty much the only friend Tony had made when he’d been at medschool, so Tony trusted him, “do you need me to drive you to… wherever it is?”

 

Tony shook his head stiffly. “I- no. I need.... I’ll get a cab-”

 

“At this time of night? It’ll be faster if I drop you,” Bruce told him softly.

 

Tony stopped, sucking in a jerky breath. It was the sensible option. He wanted to get there as fast as possible, and Bruce was offering. He didn’t have time for manners. “Okay,” he said, “I need you to take me to Brooklyn. Lower East side. I- my boyfriend, he’s… I need to go to the hospital.”

 

Bruce inhaled a little, but didn’t say anything. He just squeezed Tony’s arm a little and then began guiding them out of the doors. Tony followed, numb, again.

 

Steve would be fine. Steve was Steve. He was always fine.

  


He had to be.

  
  
  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  
  
  


Tony was told that Steve had one year left to live when he was 16 years, one month and two days old.

  
  
  


He held Steve’s hand, kissed each frail finger, and held him tight whilst Steve cried on the hospital bed. Then once Steve had fallen into a sleep, he went outside into the corridor and punched five holes into the wall, braking three fingers and a wrist. The nurses pulled him back, sat him down and told him it was going to be okay, and Tony told them “fuck you.”

  
  


-

  
  


“You’re going to be fine,” Tony told Steve on the hospital bed, curled up next to the boy and tracing patterns into the back of his hand, “I promise. I have a deadline, now, see, so it’s more motivation. A goal. I’ll work it out. Don’t worry, trust me-”

 

“Tony,” Steve said, his voice cracked and sore. He’d been crying a lot earlier, but now he was just remaining silent for the majority of the time since, “Tony, stop, please don’t do this to yourself-”

 

“I’ll do _whatever the fuck I want_ , Steve. Whatever I fucking want. I’ve got the basics mastered, I’ve got a lab partner who knows more about molecular biology and cellular science than anyone on the planet,and  I am _going t_ o work it out. Don’t fucking tell me I can’t.” Tony hissed, sitting up a little, staring at Steve angrily, because there was so much anger in his soul- so much bitterness, hatred. Why Steve? Why? It could have been anyone- could have been a murderer or the bully who had picked on them for two years or _Tony_ , but no, no, it was Steve. The ray of sunshine. The one who played with little kids and had the kindest heart in the entire world, why _him-_

  


“Tony-” Steve started again, hand reaching out to wipe the tears that were falling down Tony’s cheeks, but Tony sprung away and turned on his heel, walking out of the door and slamming it furiously behind him.

  
  


-

  
  


Tony slipped through the door again a few minutes later, and Steve opened his arms, letting Tony crawl into them and bury his head into his chest as the tears slid down his face.

  
  


-

  
  


Steve was released from hospital a week later, and the first thing Tony did when they both walked through the door to Steve’s apartment was head to the cupboards, pulling out the flour and the sugar.

 

“What are you- oh,” Steve said, as he caught on to Tony’s train of thought, “we’re baking cookies?”

 

“Yep,” Tony said, turning to face Steve with a smile, “and this time, I swear to God we will get them in the oven.”

 

Steve just smiled, and wandered over to Tony, letting his head rest on the other boy’s shoulder. “No we won’t, that raw dough is irresistible and we both know it” he said softly.

  


He was washed out. Exhausted. Looked so ill. Tony remembered how he’d been before- how the blue of his eyes had shone and his hair had fallen over his eyes all the time. His laugh had lit up a room.

 

He didn’t laugh so much, now. Although, neither did Tony. Because life just wasn’t that kind.

  


“Well then,” Tony cleared his throat and pushed it away, saved it for later. Steve needed him to be strong. And Tony… Tony needed to be whatever Steve wanted. “Let’s just make raw cookie dough, then, duh.”

 

“Okay,” Steve nodded, hands going to the flour, but his hands shook and after a second, it slipped from his grip entirely.

 

They stared at the flour for a second, and Tony wanted to set it on fire for inconveniencing Steve.

But Steve just sighed, and then picked up a clump of it between his fingers before throwing it in Tony’s face. “That’s your fault,” he declared.

 

“My- My fault?” Tony gasped, pressing a hand to his heart and using the other to grab another handful of flour, flinging it over to Steve, “that’s fucking rude, Steven.”

 

In response, Steve just threw another mound. And after that, of course, it became all-out warfare.

  
  


Tony laughed so hard he cried, and Steve clutched at his face, kissing away the tears as they fell, and together they sat by the kitchen counters, flour all over their faces, just holding one another.

  
  


-

  
  


“Tony, it’s been over 70 hours, you need to sl-”

  


“Shut up, Bruce, I’m working,” Tony cut in sharply, looking into his microscope again. Jesus, shit, fuck, this had been the Nth variation of the original synthesis and it _still_ wasn’t compatible with the tissue, fucking christ, why was Biology such a bitch-

 

“Tony,” Bruce said again, nearer this time, his voice serious, “you haven’t eaten. Slept. Drunk anything other than coffee for over three days. You need to stop. You can’t work to your full capacity like this, you’re stretching yourself too thin.”

 

Tony huffed. “Nonsense, I’ve done worse than this when I was at Harvard-”

 

“You weren’t having to commute all the way to Brooklyn every other day back then,” Bruce replied swiftly, before sighing, “look, Tony, I understand-”

 

 _“No you do not,”_ Tony slammed his hands down on the desk, and it was gonna fuck up his microscope, but he was so angry, always so fuckng angry these days, it was like a constant simmering fire in his stomach, “you do not have a single fucking clue, Bruce. Not one. So shut the fuck up and let me work.”

 

Bruce was silent for another moment, before folding his arms. “You know that the brain cannot physically function at full capacity when deprived of sleep, food and liquid. You know that. If you want to continue, I’m not stopping you. But the only way you stand a chance of doing this is if you’re working to your best ability,” he told him bluntly, before Tony felt a hand press against his shoulder, “go home, Tony,” Bruce said quietly, “go home. I’ll keep working on it.”

 

Tony stood, rigid and tense and stubborn. But Bruce rubbed his thumb across the plane of Tony’s shoulder and that was it, he slumped. Bruce was right. He had to… he had to be sensible about it. He still had plenty of time. 9 months. 9 months was enough. Tony was getting somewhere with his research, he knew he was. He just… he just needed more time.

 

God, he needed more time. He needed more funds. He needed Steve to be fucking better again, _he needed he needed he needed-_

  


“Yeah,” Tony choked, nodding, “yeah, I- okay.”

  
  


-

  
  


Steve was curled up on his couch, wrapped in blankets and watching the TV with a glazed over expression on his face when Tony pushed open the door- but once he turned and laid his eyes on Tony, his face broke out into a smile. “Hi,” he whispered quietly, because Sarah was sleeping upstairs.

 

Tony grunted his reply, falling on the couch next to Steve and curling up by his side. Wordlessly, the blankets were readjusted so that it covered the both of them, and Steve’s fingers began stroking through the knots and mess of Tony’s hair.

  


They stayed like that until dawn.

  
  


-

  
  


“Happy valentines day, baby,” Tony said against Steve’s mouth, hands curling around the sharp jawline, tugging him close, pressing into him and feeling the way Steve gasped into his mouth.

 

“I love you,” Steve mumbled, legs curling up against Tony’s waist, and they had to be careful like this, but Tony was fine with that, Tony was fine with treating Steve like he was art, because it was true, he really really was.

 

“My angel,” he whispered, shutting his eyes and resting his mouth against Steve’s temple, “so beautiful, Steve.”

 

He knew Steve didn’t believe it, but that only inspired Tony to say it more, which Tony was absolutely happy to do. So he did. Do it, that was. Whispering everything he thought, not holding back, letting Steve know just how treasured he was, how beautiful, how perfect.

 

Always.

 

“I’m so lucky to have you,” Steve whispered, biting down on his lip, “so lucky.”

 

And it was honestly baffling, how Steve could still be like that. Still think he was lucky, after everything. Still hold that… that positivity in his heart. It was more than Tony could ever have done.

 

“I’m never gonna leave,” Tony whispered, pressing into him again, “we ride this out together. We stick this shit out until we make it out the other side, right?”

 

And Steve opened his mouth like he was going to argue, but Tony just kissed him quiet again, because didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to fucking hear it. It didn’t matter what the nurses said, didn’t matter what the scans showed. Steve was more than all of that. He was strong. He’d pull through.

 

“Love you,” was all Steve said in the end, and Tony let his eyes flutter shut, let the words fill him up, because it meant so much when it came from Steve. He was the only one who’d ever said it to him. Ever.

 

Tony wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist and buried his head into the bony shoulders and grey skin. They held on. Together.

  
  


-

  
  


They put Steve on medication that made him totally wired, and it had been the third night in which Steve hadn’t slept, so Tony took him across town to the studio he hired out sometimes and played him music on the grand piano until he drifted off on the beanbag next to Tony’s stool.

  
  


-

  
  


Bruce called him to say he’d found a compound which had successfully binded to the tissue without causing any degeneration at all, and Tony suddenly found himself spending all his time in the labs. It was tedious and frustrating and Tony really knew that this was the wrong field for him, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t, not now.

 

He was close. He was fucking close, he knew it. He had 5 months. 5 months to figure it out and he could do it, he _would_ do it, he’d do it for Steve.  And hell- Steve had been doing great recently anyway. The new meds were really helping him; he’d been up and about more lately, with more energy, a little more meat on his bones. It was wonderful to see. And maybe it meant he’d gained a little more time on the clock, too.

  


“Tony?” Steve’s voice asked down the line, “are you gonna come home, soon?”

 

Tony fumbled at his coffee cup, putting it on his desk and then beaming at the sound of Steve’s voice, “I- yeah, I mean, I’m sort of swamped with tests right now, and we’ve just had a bit of a breakthrough which I need to look into a bit more, so… so I might have to just wait until I’ve worked my way through it, you know-”

 

“I haven’t seen you in weeks,” Steve said quietly, and Tony stopped, thrown by the sadness in his voice.

 

“What? I- Steve, I’m really… I have to try and work this out, you know that. This is… this is important! Come on, I’ll be back soon-”

 

“You ever thought about the fact that I don’t have very long, and maybe I just want to see you? Maybe I want to spend time with you before-”

 

“Don’t,” Tony cut in harshly, breath suddenly not coming properly, because he didn’t want to think about that, he wasn’t going to- “don’t say stuff like that, Steve-”

 

“What? That I’m dying, Tony?” Steve bit out angrily, loudly, piercing through the bubble Tony had constructed around him with all the ease that only Steve possessed, “because I am. And there’s a good chance you’re not going to be able to find something that saves me.”

 

“Steve, stop-”

 

“You can’t keep living in denial, Tony! Please! It’s been months and you’re still not… you’re not preparing yourself for anything other than the inevitable cure you’re going to find me! What are you gonna do if… if-”

 

“STOP IT,” Tony screamed, and ended the call furiously, throwing his phone across the room and then suddenly feeling like all the blood had just left his legs.

 

He clutched his head and fell to the floor, breathing jarred and short. Bruce was out fetching lunch- Tony was all alone.

  


Steve wasn’t going to…

  
  


He wasn’t.

  
  
  


He was Steve. He didn’t- he always- he was strong. He was so, so strong. And Tony was smart. That had been their thing. The brains and the brawn, even if Brawn was 4-foot-nothing and Brains could forget his own head if it wasn’t attached to his body.

 

It didn’t matter. It was Steve, and Steve couldn’t… ever.

  


Tony gasped, and then shut his eyes when they became too blurry to see through.

  
  
  


This wasn’t fair. This wasn’t fucking fair. Why? Tony had been asking that question for months now, and he still didn’t have any fucking answers. He had nothing. No sign from God or whatever the fuck was out there, no miracle cure that had been given to him as an apology for what the universe had put Steve through. Just a terminal illness and then _nothing._ God, the Universe, whatever the fuck- it had decided on Steve. They had picked Steve to- to…

  
  


They’d picked Steve to die. They’d picked the one ray of sunlight amongst the grey life that Tony lived and they’d set out to crush it as best they could. And _it wasn’t fair._ Why? Why had it had to be Steve? Tony would have put it on someone else in a heartbeat. It was probably wrong, maybe a little psychotic, but he would. He would do anything.

  


But he couldn’t even if he wanted to. So that left Steve with it. Steve, with his weak immune system and laundry list of ailments.

  


That left Steve to die.

  
  


-

  
  


When Bruce came back, it was to Tony curled up in a ball in the corner of the room, head between his knees as he sobbed.

  
  


-

  
  


The door opened slowly, and Tony watched Steve’s eyes widen in surprise as he looked over to Tony stood meekly at the bottom of the steps.

  


“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and it was probably still obvious that he’d been crying, because Steve just sighed and then pulled Tony in, wrapping frail arms around Tony’s shoulder and kissing him softly on the cheek.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said again, “I shouldn’t… I didn’t mean to shout. I just- I’m not- I’m not ready to go there, yet. I can’t, Steve. I can’t.”

 

“You have to,” Steve said, blunt as always, but with an impossibly gentle voice, “you need to… to prepare yourself. I need you to do that for me. I need you to be okay without me. That’s all I want.”

 

Tony shook his head against Steve’s neck and clenched his eyes shut. No. That wasn’t… “I don’t even know _how_ to be without you, Steve,” he said, wrecked.

 

Steve stroked his hair. “Neither do I. But Tony, I just…” he broke off, sucking in air of his own as he struggled to keep calm, “if I do. If this is all I have left. Please- I want you to be here. I want to spend my last… whatever, with you. I don’t want you to be so consumed with trying to find a cure for me that you forget… that you forget to actually be here. I need you.”

 

Tony swallowed. He felt like he was going to throw up. He felt like he was going to punch another wall. He just… he just wanted to turn back the clock. He wished with all his heart. Although he had a lot of wishes when it came to Steve.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said again, because he didn’t know what else was there to be spoken. He was just… sorry. Sorry that he’d been neglectful, even if it had been unintentional. Sorry he’d had to leave at all. Sorry they’d been so young when this had all started going so badly.

 

Funnily enough, though, sorry couldn’t quite cover all that.

  
  


-

  
  


Steve threw a plate across the kitchen, and it didn’t go anywhere near Tony, but he had a long history of flying kitchen-wares and so he ducked on instinct anyway. “Steve, darling, please, you have to calm down-”

 

“WHY?” Steve howled, banging his fist into the cabinet as he got his fingers on the handle of another mug and threw that, too, “what the FUCK did I do to deserve this-”

 

“Steve, Steve, I don’t know, but you’re going to hurt yourself, you have t-”

 

“I’M SIXTEEN!” Steve screamed, “I HAD A _LIFE!_ A _FUTURE! I_ … I was going to be an artist. I just… I just wanted to be an artist, Tony. What was so wrong with that? What was- what-”

 

Tony rushed forward, getting a hand around his elbow just as Steve’s knees gave way and sent him to the cold hard tiles of the floor. Steve was crying, gone entirely numb, and he slumped into Tony’s arms as the tears streamed down his face. “I don’t want to die. I don’t. I wanted to grow up and get married and be happy. Why did I get this instead? I don’t…. I had so many things I was gonna do, Tony, so many.”

 

“I know, I know, baby, but you can’t give up yet, you _can’t,_ okay, please-”

 

“I was gonna grow old with you, Tony. That was my plan. We were gonna be together for the rest of our lives. And then I’d open up a little art business, and we’d- we’d have had date night on a Friday, where I’d take you some place nice. Maybe the observatory. I’ve always loved the stars.” Steve’s voice was flat, monotone, and Tony knew that he’d run himself dry, he’d spent up every emotion, and all he was left with was emptiness. “It would have been amazing, wouldn’t it?”

 

Tony didn’t speak, because then Steve would hear that he was crying, and Steve didn’t need that right now. He just nodded. Nodded and rocked them both on the floor of the kitchen. “I love you,” he whispered, “I love you and I’ll find a way to cure this. I will. I will.”

  


Steve held his hand and sobbed.

  
  


-

  
  


Tony worked himself to the bone, to illness, until he couldn’t stand. He split his time between the labs and Brooklyn, took naps throughout the day and then worked through the night. There was progress. There was. Tony felt like he was coming close to a breakthrough, he could feel it in his bones, and so could Bruce.

  


Steve took a turn for the worse.

  


Another trip to the hospital, and suddenly he had to carry an oxygen mask and tank around with him, just to breathe.

 

Steve cried a lot, when he came home with it a week later. Tony just felt like he couldn’t break any further. He curled close around Steve and drew smiley faces over the metal tube and then he went back to the labs to let his own tears out on the desk as he worked.

  


They were too young for this. Steve was… Steve was too young for this. Tony didn’t know how to deal with this. It was overwhelming. It was all-consuming. It was ripping him apart.

 

But he kept working.

  
  


-

  
  


“Come out with me,” Tony grabbed Steve’s hand, giving it a tug and releasing it from the sketchpad it was gripping, “I’m bored and we haven’t gone out on a date in ages.”

 

Steve stopped, eyebrows widening before he blushed. “Tony, you know I can’t walk around very easily, and I can’t eat rich food-”

 

“We aren’t going to be eating,” Tony told him, “please? Please come out with me, Steve.”

 

“What are we doing?”

 

Tony tapped his nose. “A surprise,” he said, tugging Steve’s arm, lifting him up, “up, up, let’s go, come on- oh, and grab a few layers, it might be chilly.”

 

Steve was looking more and more perplexed by the second, but Tony just grinned and rushed off, running back out of the room as quickly as he’d come.

  


Tony got his way, of course- and Steve followed him dutifully into a cab as they travelled through the dark streets until they reached the outskirts of New York.

 

“Tony, where the hell are we going?” Steve asked curiously, head peering out of the window in curiosity.

 

But Tony didn’t tell him. Just paid the cab driver and then took Steve by the hand, guiding them through the quieter streets until eventually they came to-

  


“Is this an observatory?” Steve asked incredulously, staring in shock at the dome-shaped building ahead of him as Tony jumped up excitedly on his toes.

 

“Mm hmm,” Tony told him happily, tugging him forward again, “and I hired the whole thing out, and pulled some strings. I know how to work all the equipment, so we can look through and see all the stars, if you want. It’s all yours, baby. Just us, for the night.”

 

Steve stopped, turning to look at Tony with something on his face that Tony couldn’t quite describe. He chose not to try. He just… he just wanted to make Steve happy. Fulfill a wish or two. He didn’t want to think about why.

 

Steve smiled, and laced their fingers together again. “Lead the way,” he told Tony softly.

  


And Tony did.

  


The night was perfect. Steve looked more animated than he had in weeks; a little bit of colour going into his cheeks as he asked Tony dozens of question about what he was looking at, how he was looking at it, why it was there. Tony answered them all with a laugh, often stopping to make out with Steve in between, because what was a date without kissing, honestly?

  


“Are you happy?” Tony blurted toward the end of their session, unable to help himself.

 

Steve stopped, slightly taken aback. But his face softened as he took Tony’s face in his hands and kissed softly, breaking away so their mouths were almost just touching. “Yes,” he said simply, “thank you. So much. I always wanted to see the stars like this,” he admitted, shooting another glance upward.

 

Tony felt the sadness hit him hard, just for a moment, and the smile faltered on his face a little before he pulled it back, regained his composure.

  


He was just showing Steve the stars. He’d said he’d liked them.He was just showing Steve the stars.

  
  


-

  
  


Tony stared at the results on his graph, frozen in shock.

  


It wasn’t a mistake. He’d done checks, double checks and triple checks. He’d re-worked the whole experiment just in case. It had come up the same.

  


“Bruce,” he said numbly, “I think… I think I just found it.”

 

“Found what?”

 

Tony turned to him, handing over the test results numbly. Bruce grabbed them, and stared. And stared. And stared.

 

“I cured it,” Tony told him, words thick on his tongue, like a dream, “the cancer. It’s gone.”

 

Bruce gaped, and Tony saw his hands begin to shake against the paper. “How many different cancers have you tested it against?”

 

“22.”

 

“And how many were eradicated?”

 

“All.”

 

Bruce sat, very quickly, back into his chair. “Oh...god,” he croaked, “oh, Jesus Mary and Joseph. Is that? Is that a prank?” He paused, taking a look at Tony’s completely frozen face, and shook his head, “okay, maybe not. How long does this take to make?”

 

Tony paused, like he hadn’t heard the question, but then he jerked. “A few weeks to develop. Few extra for the effect to take place on the patient. But… but it only needs a few doses. For a cancer like Leukemia- a couple of shots in the bloodstream and it will travel the whole body.”

 

Steve had Leukemia.

 

Tony had just… he’d just cured Leukemia.

  


“Tony? Tony, do you hear me?” Bruce said, shaking his shoulders gently, “you have to take this to the FDA. You have to put it through trials. You can’t just-”

 

“Bruce, for God’s sake, just look at the formula. It’s ridiculously basic. Some of the drugs have been approved and used before. We could get human trials by the end of the month- they know our rep, and we don’t have to do it openly.”

 

Bruce stared at him. “That... wouldn’t be legal.”

 

Tony shrugged. “Don’t care.” And he really, really meant that.

  


He was pretty sure he was in shock. Bruce was talking to him- or at least, his mouth was moving- but Tony couldn’t really hear. He was working it all out in his head. He was trying to process what had just happened. What he’d just done.

  


“-y? Tony? Your phone’s ringing, buddy,” Bruce came back into focus, holding Tony’s phone in front of his line of vision as it vibrated and played out a pleasant tune.

  


All at once, Tony’s entire focus had zeroed in on it, and he snatched it out of Bruce’s hand lightning-fast. An instinctive response, at that point, because he’d programmed his phone to remain silent unless it was-

 

“Steve? Sarah?” He asked immediately.

 

There was silence down the other end of the line, and then a burst of static, like someone was exhaling too fast. “Hi, Tony, darling,” Sarah said, her voice impossibly soft.

  


Oh God.

  
  


“Is he- he’s… okay?” Tony managed to get out, and he felt sick again, sick to his very stomach, because if Sarah was calling him, something had to be very, very wr-

  


“I...no, honey, he’s- he’s not.”

  


Tony froze. “Tell me,” he whispered, wondering is Sarah had even be able to hear that tiny sound.

 

Another silence, and then an agonised sob- the sound of a Mother who was- who was- “he collapsed. Again. Tony, he stopped… he stopped breathing. His… oh, God-”

 

Tony was moving; hands grabbing Bruce’s car keys, the other one clutching the phone to his ear as he sprinted through the lab and out of the exit, “Sarah, is he alive? Is he… Jesus, fucking shit, is he- please-”

 

“Yes,” Sarah said, her voice so soft and broken, “but…”

  


Tony ended the call before she could finish. Steve was alive. That was all that mattered.

 

He got in Bruce’s car and he drove.

  
  


-

  
  


When he burst into the hospital, Steve’s eyes were closed, and Sarah was sat on the visitor’s chair, holding his hand and staring at the floor. Her face was grey, hair a mess, and there were silent tears that were slipping down her cheeks.

 

When she saw him, however, she quickly wiped them off. Gave him a smile. “Hello, darling,” she said softly, and Tony just stared at Steve’s prone form, unable to to string a sentence together. All he could focus on was the beeping noise in the room which indicated that Steve was, in fact, alive.

 

He drifted over to the hospital bed. Placed his hand on top of Steve’s spare one. Just...stood.

 

“I found a cure,” Tony whispered to the closed eyes, “I found one. Today. This morning. The results came back in and they can… they can fix you, baby. It can make you better again.”

 

There was a tiny little exhale to his side, and then Sarah began crying in earnest.

Tony didn’t take his eyes off Steve.

  
  


-

  
  


Steve woke up a few hours later, blinking fuzzily around the room. Tony felt the minute movements under his fingers, and he jerked his head off the pillow, sitting up on the bed he’d slotted himself beside Steve in and looking down. “Wakey wakey, asshole,” he laughed softly, “you had a good rest?”

 

Steve smiled back, and his hand barely moved, but Tony felt the fingers that tapped expectantly against Tony’s. Taking the hint, Tony wound their fingers together, leaning back down onto the bed so that he was centimeters away from Steve’s face. “Listen, baby,” he said quietly, “I found a cure. I found one. You- just a few more months, and you can get rid of it. Hold on for a few more months. You can do that, right? You can do that for me?”

 

Steve smiled again- and Tony knew that smile, it was the smile he used when he was humouring Tony. When he was playing along to make him happy.

 

“No, Steve, I mean it,” Tony said, wiping the tears off his face viciously and poking Steve’s shoulder, “you can do this. I _know_ you can. I know you can. Please, Steve. We’ll put you on some new meds, stronger ones, just until then. We’ll… we’ll do something-”

 

Steve rolled his eyes and raised a hand, pushing his shaky fingers against Tony’s mouth and stopping the flow of words. With his spare one, he pulled down the oxygen mask, much to Tony’s discontentment, and shuffled forward. “Okay,” he croaked, and then Tony felt the feather-light press of Steve’s chapped lips against his own, “just… stay here. With me. For a bit.”

 

“I… Steve, I have to get back, I have to get it ready-”

 

“Please, love,” Steve said softly, fingers stroking down the side of Tony’s face, and Tony knew what he was implying, that he wanted to.... Whatever, whatever, fuck, it wasn’t- it wasn’t going to happen, Steve was wrong, the nurses were _wrong_ , he was going to be… he was going to be fine. He was. He _was._ He was Steve.

 

He wasn’t going to leave Tony. Not now. Not after everything.

  


“Please,” Steve whispered again, thumb stroking across the tear tracks on Tony’s face, wiping them away, and Tony jerked upward, looked for his jacket because he had to get back, he had to get back, he had to… he had to do something.

  


Steve held on to his hand, and suddenly Tony couldn’t let go. He couldn’t. Steve was warm, and his heart was beating under his wrist, and he was there. Tony couldn’t let go.

  


He lay back down, and he buried his head into Steve’s neck.

  
  


-

  
  


“Sing for me.”

  


Tony jerked out of his doze, looking down and watching Steve as he stared up, a small little smile on his face. His fingers were playing against Tony’s collarbones and his head was tucked up against Tony’s shoulder, and he was reminded rather forcefully of the first time they had kissed, back when they were just kids. Steve had been sat like that on the couch. He’d been ill then, too; his mouth had tasted like medicine.

 

“I- what?” Tony asked in confusion.

 

Steve just laughed again. “Sing, Tony. Please. I always loved it when you sang.”

 

Tony sputtered a little, caught out. “I- I haven’t… I don’t know what to-”

 

“The Italian one,” Steve helped him, “the one you did in the music room, when I first heard you. That was lovely.”

 

Steve’s voice was barely even audible, he was that quiet. It sounded scratchy against his throat, but the inflections, the way in which he spoke them- that was all Steve.

 

Tony shook his head. “Why are you- why, I don’t-”

 

“Tony,” and Steve sounded fond, his hand finding Tony’s and wrapping their fingers together, “please. I want to hear you.”

  
  


You have moments, in your life.

Points in time that define you, that change your life. Tony had had a few of them. Like when he fell down the stairs and stopped being able to raise his leg any higher than his waist because of the way it had broken. Or when Steve had kissed him for the first time.

 

Tony felt like he was about to have a defining moment. He knew. He knew what the world was gearing up for.

  


He wanted to say no. Maybe if he just refused, then it would be like… like he was refusing to let it happen. Like he could just stop it with a word. He’d tried and failed at everything else, after all.

 

God, he’d tried. He’d tried so hard, for so long. Steve had, too. They’d put so much of themselves into this.

  
  


Steve was impossibly thin, now. Deep purple circles ringed his eyes, and his skin was gaunt. He’d been like that for a while.

He was still the most beautiful thing Tony had ever seen. Or ever would see, for that matter.

  
  


He opened his mouth and he sung.

  
  


-

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Steve died when he was 16 years, 5 months and 8 days old.

  
  


Tony sung him through it.

  
  
  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  
  
  


Tony got something in the mail a week and a half later.

 

It was from Steve.

  


_Happy ten years, love._

_Yours, always- Steve x_

  


Nestled at the bottom of the envelope was a faded yellow pencil that Tony had thought was missing for years. Steve must have kept it.

 

Of course he had. It was Steve.

  
  


-

  
  


They had the funeral, but Tony didn’t speak. He just watched on.

 

Steve would probably have rolled his eyes, if he’d heard what they said. He’d have taken Tony’s hand and snuck out to find the buffet.

  


Tony didn’t cry. He didn’t do anything. There was nothing left of him, anyway.

  


“He wanted you to have this,” Sarah said quietly, handing him a sketchbook. It was old and worn; packed full, the edges creased and dog-eared. “He asked me… here,” she put it in his hands, and Tony didn’t say anything- he hadn’t since Monday morning 4 weeks, 2 days and three hours ago.

 

He just took it and then left.

  
  


-

  
  


Steve was gone, and Tony had nothing left.

  
  


-

  
  


He trashed his room and found a bottle of whiskey and he drank it until he forgot everything, all of it, until all there was left was darkness.

 

Next time he woke up, he was in hospital, and he turned in the cot, reached out, and then realised that there wasn’t going to be anyone there.

  


He stood up and he walked out.

  
  


-

  
  


-

  
  


He didn’t open Steve’s sketchbook. He couldn’t. He still felt like the boy was going to burst through the doors and greet him. It was the only way he could keep going through the day, after all.

  
  


He didn’t visit Steve’s grave, either. Or Steve’s house. Sarah invited him places, but Tony ignored her calls. Because he was selfish and he was pathetic and he still hadn’t said a word, even though it had been a month and a half.

 

There wasn’t much point.

  


So he just drank instead, and then made sure no one was there to take him to hospital that time. He had psychiatrists and therapists calling him, people trying to reach him, but he put his phone in the trash.

 

Like he said- there wasn’t much point. It wasn’t going to bring Steve back to him.

  
  


-

  
  


Tony was 17 years, 3 months and 30 days old when the checks were finally passed for the cure and released to the public.

  


They kept talking about prizes. Medals. Awards. He became a millionaire pretty much overnight. Everyone wanted to talk to him, everyone wanted a piece of his story. Tony just passed them off to Bruce. He’d been a major contributing factor, after all. He knew what he was talking about, and he’d been the one who had actually been interested in biology in the first place.

 

Tony had just wanted to help the boy he loved.

  


He opened the sketchbook, that night. Steve’s. Steve’s sketchbook, which he’d told Sarah to give to him. It had been kept in his safe since then; along with everything else that belonged to Steve. Tony hadn’t even glanced at it before that moment.

 

It was lovely. As always. Steve had been amazing at art.

 

_‘I’d had a future! I just wanted to be an artist!’_

  


Tony shut his eyes and turned over the page. He wanted to do this. Steve had wanted him to have it. He owed him that much.

 

His breath hitched a little when he came onto the second page. It was just a lot of little sketches of… him. In Steve’s unmistakable style- he was smiling, laughing, crying. A lot of his hands. One of him fixing Steve’s microwave.

 

It was the same. All of the pages- they were of him. Aside from the few sketches of Sarah or Bucky or strangers Steve had seen, it was all for him.

 

Tony wondered if that was how Steve had always seen him. He looked so perfect in these.

 

As he got to the middle, he started seeing little messages next to the sketches. It was easy to see at what point Steve had started deteriorating more rapidly- the sketches became rougher, more shaky, and he’d started adding the notes.

 

_Your smile is so beautiful._

 

_I always wondered how you managed to get your hair that messy in such a short space of time (?)_

 

_I love you._

  


Tony curled up in the corner of his room and he spent ten minutes on each side of paper. By the time he came to the end, the dawn had just begun to rise through his windows.

 

There was a letter, tucked in the last two pages.

 

It took him another forty minutes to get around to opening that one. Shaking fingers slipped under the folds and pulled out the paper slowly, running his fingers along the edges, feeling the sharp edges of the sheet. Steve had put his hands on this, a few months ago. Steve had been alive a few months ago. It was weird to think about that. Didn’t quite make sense.

 

_Hey Tony._

 

_I hope you like the sketches. I know most of them are kinda shitty toward the end, but hey, cancer’s a bitch, huh? I think I did okay considering- well, you know._

 

_I know this sounds like every cheesy movie ever, but if you’re reading this, then it means I’m gone. So I’m also guessing that you’re not doing too great. You probably won’t even open this for ages, will you? It doesn’t matter, don’t worry. You take however long you need._

 

_I don’t really know what to write. It’s kind of hard, trying to put everything down into one letter when you’re about to die. It makes everything kinda gloomy. But you know me- no point dwelling on that, right? I want to talk about the important stuff._

 

_You were the best thing that ever happened to me, Tony._

 

_Seriously. From the moment I met you, you were. You cared so much. You put me first. Dammit, you did medschool and changed your career path to Biochemistry for me, and I know you found it dull. I hated seeing you do it, and you hated doing it, but you still did. For me. It’s more than I could ever have asked for. I would like to say that I was sorry you did it, but I’m not. I’m selfish. And it helped me last as long as I have._

 

_Hell, maybe you’ll do it in the nick of time. Maybe I’ll never have to give you this. But I don’t think so. You’re amazing, Tony, but you’re not God. No matter what you try and tell me. Life will run its course, it doesn’t matter what we try and do. And that’s not your fault. Please, please, if you only do one thing for me ever again, don’t think it was your fault. You did everything. You went above and beyond for me, Tony, and I can never hope to express how grateful I am for that._

 

_Do I wish I didn’t have to do this? Of course I do. I don’t want to die. But a lot of people don’t want a lot of things, and yet they still happen. Whatever God’s plan is involving me, I guess I just have to hope he knows what he’s doing. I do wish I’d had longer, though. It would have been nice. I would’ve liked to spend my life with you._

 

_Gah, I’m getting all moody again. Sorry. I know this is just as difficult for you as it is for me. And it was never supposed to be like this. I never wanted to put this on you. I wouldn’t dream of it, you always deserved more than I could give you anyway._

 

_But Tony, please. Stay safe. For me. You have to keep going, okay? I know you’re not going to want to, I know. I couldn’t imagine losing you. I guess I’m lucky in that sense. But Tony- you have so much to offer the world. You’re gonna be so amazing. You always were. And I can’t bear to think that my death would destroy that, so you can’t let it. Again, selfish, but you gotta do this for me. Knowing something horrible happened to you because of me would be like dying all over again._

 

_So yeah. I could make this ten pages long, but I feel like I’m gonna start going around in circles. You’re getting back in a few minutes, anyway, and I don’t really think you’d take well to catching me writing you a letter like this. So I think I’ll just end this with a list of things you need to try and do after I go, ok?_

 

_*Eat. Healthy things, if you possibly can- the day you showed me that deep-fried mars bar was a day I would rather forget._

_*Drink something that isn’t coffee or alcohol._

_*Go out. Meet some new people. Anyone in their right mind will adore you, and it’s about time you branched out a little bit._

_*Look after mom for me._

_*Go back into mechanics. I know that’s what you love,Tony, and I feel like you’re probably gonna need that._

_*Be safe. Look after yourself. Don’t use me as an excuse to self-destruct, I would really hate that._

_*Keep moving forward. Keep fighting. Keep learning and laughing and being the person I’ve always loved._

 

_Shit, I can see your cab pulling up outside right now. I’m gonna have to cut this off. God, I wish I could say something a little more useful. I wish I could be there for you. But I can’t, and I’m not, so I’m afraid you’re just going to have to make do with this._

 

_I love you, Tony. I love you so much. And you’re gonna be okay. I know you. I have the utmost of faith. It’s gonna take a while- it’s gonna be hard, I can’t lie about that. But you can make it through. Just… don’t forget me, okay? I never made that much of an impact on Earth; not enough time, I guess- but I don’t want to be forgotten._

 

_Give ‘em hell, Tony._

_I’ll be with you. Always-_

 

_Steve x_

  
  


-

  
  


Tony went to visit Steve for the first time since the funeral on his 18th birthday.

  


It was a nice morning. Sunny, with a bit of wind. Few clouds. Tony had thought about wearing a suit, but he knew Steve would’ve probably just laughed at him if he’d seen it. _Jesus, Tony, it’s not a wake, you’re just coming to visit,_ he’d say, and then knock their shoulders together fondly like he always did.

  


“I did it,” Tony started with, and his voice felt like it was being controlled by someone else- too wavery and high pitched for himself, “I developed a drug. It can cure dozens of different cancers, Steve, just with a few doses. I saved _so_ many people.”

 

He laughed. See, this was why he’d put off coming for so long. He always got morbid. Steve had always hated morbid, especially after he’d gotten ill.

 

“Couldn’t have just survived for a month and a half longer, could you?” He asked with a smile, “I could’ve saved you, too, then.” He shrugged, stubbornly looking up to the treeline rather than below him, where the little polished stone lay. “I wasn’t fast enough. A month and a half. Jesus- I keep thinking of all the ways I could have sped that up, could’ve worked harder, done more, and then you might be- you might…oh, God.”

 

He gasped, feeling like something was clawing at his chest. Finally, finally, he looked down; saw the little inscription and the dates, before it became too blurry to be seen at all and his shoulders heaved, the weight of his grief feeling heavy enough to crush him completely.

 

“I made some new friends. I- at MIT. Because I go there, now. I’m still eligible for it, considering I’m still only eighteen. It’s cool. It’s really- yeah, he’s called Rhodey and he’s great, and then there’s Bruce who I see quite a lot, and me and Bucky are talking more these days and- and yeah. I did that.”

 

It was Rhodey who was waiting for him by the car, actually. He’d offered to come along, and Tony had figured he could do with a lift. He knew that his friend was watching him, but he didn’t much care.

 

“I miss you,” he whispered, “I… so much. You don’t even understand, Steve.” He laughed again,  or maybe he sobbed, he couldn’t be too sure, “I still don’t really know what to do with myself. I still sometimes wake up and I reach out and you’re not- and it’s just- it’s hard. You know? It’s… it’s hard.”

 

There was a long silence, after that. Tony wondered if Steve was watching. Hell- Tony hadn’t even believed in that shit for his entire life, but then Steve had… and suddenly Tony found himself just hoping. That maybe… maybe he was. And sometimes Tony could swear it was true- when he wore Steve’s glasses or read over his sketchbooks, it was almost like he could feel him.

 

_I’ll be with you. Always_

 

“I dedicated it to you,” Tony blurted, “the cure. Put it in my reports, told everyone in interviews, everything. I’ve used the money to start a new charity for sick kids and it’s got your name all over it. The whole world knows how amazing you are, Steve, because I fucking shouted it from the rooftops. You’re going down in history- admittedly, you’re probably gonna be paired next to me, but still. That’s not so bad, right?”

 

God, it hurt. Standing here, seeing the proof, right in front of him. Steve was not coming back. Steve was gone.

 

“I love you,” Tony told him, “you will always… You will always be the best thing that happened to me. Hey- did I ever tell you I used to think you were an angel? Because that was a thing I totally did. From the moment I met you til the moment- yeah. You never gave me any evidence to suggest otherwise, so,”

 

He trailed off, and took in another breath. Stepping forward, he let the tips of his fingers rest against the headstone.

 

“You’re home now, Steve,” he said softly, “up with the rest of the angels. Where you belong.”

  


He let his fingers rest against the cold stone for a few seconds, and then he turned away. Back to Rhodey. Back to the rest of his life.

 

  
“Sweet dreams, baby,” he called out, placing his fingers against his mouth and then pressing it to Steve’s name.

  
  


 

 

 

He wiped the last few tears off his face, and then he walked away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> UH THIS IS THE ONLY SAD FIC I WILL EVER WRITE BECAUSE. I DON'T WANT TO GO THROUGH THAT AGAIN THANKS BYE


End file.
